


as foretold in the stars

by alexavindr (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Divination, First Kisses, Fluff, Gee maybe Divination IS real Erik, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Humor, Jealousy, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Oblivious Charles and Erik, Protective Erik, they're learning, this isn't a crossover bc of the avengers characters i just ran out of applicable x-men sorry, what even is this omfg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-11 03:06:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7873762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/alexavindr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Charles receives news from his Divination teacher that he's going to find the love of his life, Erik tries to talk him out of it. </p><p>Unfortunately for both of them, someone—Raven, obviously—decides to orchestrate a cruel prank, including the most popular girl at Hogwarts, and an incredibly potent love potion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as foretold in the stars

**Author's Note:**

> Helloooooo! This is my last minute Harry Potter AU! They're in their fourth year, I think! I don't know! 
> 
> LOADS of thanks to [annejumps](http://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps) for holding my hand through my indecisiveness and writer's block. I probably wouldn't have been able to complete anything if it wasn't for you :)
> 
> When I say this was last minute, I MEAN IT. This was originally going to be much longer, but then life sucker-punched me in the face and broke my computer charger :/ I'll clean it up after it's posted!

“Bloody hell, Charles, you’re not going to find your 'true love' based on some bloody planets aligning,” Erik exclaims. Charles looks up at him a bit _too_ seriously for this to be a fake reaction. “It’s complete bollocks!”

“You don’t know if it’s bollocks or not. You took her class for about a week, then quit because you were tired of looking at tea leaves. It’s more than that, you know.” His tone is accusing, almost offended, and Erik almost wants to laugh. Bloody hell. "I think you're just jealous."

Erik rolls his eyes and actually laughs, a guttural 'huh'. Charles has to be one of the most gullible Slytherins he’s ever met. Where Charles is booksmart, he’s definitely lacking when it comes to common sense. Divination is as fake as Headmaster Shaw’s smile, and sure, maybe there’s some correlation between the weather and someone’s mood, as Professor Grey had said in that week Erik had been in the class, but figuring out someone’s going to become rich if they see a triangle or whatever obscure thing in some tea dregs is _definitely_ not a verifiable practice. Astronomy is probably a better class to take, and it’s about _dead balls of gas._

But Charles, on the other hand, takes Professor Grey’s teachings like gospel. Every single day, he’s updating his dream journal thing—which Erik thinks is hilarious, but only tells Charles this occasionally, in case it hurts his feelings or something—or trying to figure out his future based on over-complicated and rather asinine star charts. A part of Erik considers it pretty damn funny, but the other, rapidly growing part of him, is beginning to think it’s rather annoying.

Especially now.

“Divination is a hoax, Charles. It’s all guesswork and whimsical assumptions. You should be smart enough to figure that out.” Charles opens his mouth to retort, but Erik continues after casting a gentle levitation spell to get Charles’ wheelchair down the stairs to the dungeon. He looks grateful for it, but he’s still generally annoyed, if the fixed scowl and crossed arms are anything to go by. His chair floats about six inches off the stone stairs, his blue eyes glinting in the light of the torches on the walls. “Remember last week when Professor Grey said you were going to find tremendous success? Absolutely _nothing_ happened.”

“I won a tournament of Wizard’s Chess against you,” Charles reminds him petulantly. Erik groans and lets Charles’ chair back onto the ground as they come off the staircase.

“Three games, remember? You had to give me ten sickles for it. That’s a rather hefty victory, don’t you think?”

“Not really. I had just spent three entire days writing that Charms essay before; you won by complete circumstance. And winning Wizard’s Chess is not a ‘tremendous success’. It’s a trivial win at best, and I might be overselling it for your sake. Also, how in Merlin's name did you pull 'love of your life' out of your arse? It's got to be some really rare tea leaves or something.”

Charles shrugs and reaches for his bag that’s hanging off the back of his chair. He digs out his Divination textbook, and Erik groans in exasperation again, tired of Charles trying to justify his ridiculous claims with “facts.” Erik doesn’t believe in them anyway; he’s not sure why Charles still thinks that they'll put any substance into the argument. He uses one hand to get to a specific page and uses the other to continue to push himself along, tongue licking his lip in concentration. Erik looks away as Charles bites his lower lip, something akin to anger—in that it's warm, and slightly unpleasant—flaring up in his stomach.

Erik’s not sure why, but he hates it when Charles does stuff with his mouth. His cheeks flush and there’s this weird rushing feeling of heat in his solar plexus, and it’s rather annoying. It’s easier if he just looks away.

“This is stu—”

Charles interrupts him by loudly clearing his throat, reading from the open page in his lap. “When Mars aligns with Neptune—”

“Oh _come on,_ Charles, really—”

"Romantic endeavors are bound to be prevalent, especially if you are born in the month of April. Which, as I’m sure you know, is the month I was born in.” Charles looks up at Erik, expression proud. He shuts the book triumphantly and puts it back in his bag. Erik rolls his eyes so hard it hurts.

“Your ‘romantic endeavor’ could just mean someone saying they like you, or something,” Erik reminds him. His brain is still trying to figure out whether this is funny or not. A mixture of both, maybe. “Why go as far as 'true love'?”

“Professor Grey said it was very possible, considering I also have blue eyes and shorter fingers,” replies Charles matter-of-fact. “That’s an important factor in—”

Erik laughs. “No, it isn’t an important factor in anything _._ It’s a genetic trait passed down from your family members. You know that; you study genetics back home.”

“Yes, I do. But science and magic also mix sometimes, you know. Blue eyes are a genetic trait that comes into play—”

They turn a corner, Erik opening his mouth to speak, but a voice calls out to them from behind.

"Good morning, Mister Xavier. And... friend, I suppose." Erik's jaw clenches as he recognizes the speaker's voice. It's Baron Stark. Or whatever the Slytherins call him; Erik doesn't care. All Erik knows about him was that he had been, one, a Slytherin, and two, a major benefactor to the school at one point. Erik, again, doesn't care that he donated money, he just doesn't want the damn ghost teasing him on his third-hand robes.

Charles turns his head with a cheery smile. "Good morning, Lord Stark. You're looking... quite luminescent, today. Did Lady Potts finally give in to your advances?"

Baron Stark tips his ghost-hat—complete with a pheasant feather—and chuckles. Erik has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "No, she didn't. One of these days, Mister Xavier, I know she will." He sighs, then looks at Erik, who is trying his best not to glare at—through?—him. His eyes flick up and down Erik's body as he crosses his arms. "Straighten your tie, dear boy, you're embarrassing yourself."

"Says the man who's been chasing after the same woman for two hundred years," retorts Erik, even as he fixes his crooked tie. Baron Stark's eyes widen in disbelief. (The man should get used to rejection by now, really. Erik doesn't feel the least bit of remorse.)

Charles doesn't say anything, but shoots him a glare before continuing. "Well, _I_ might have some good news."

Erik groans. He's really going to try telling a _ghost_ his fake prediction? That's not funny _or_ annoying; it's just sad, especially since Charles thinks it's true. "No, you don't have any 'good news'."

"Well, I'd _love_ to hear it. I know how difficult it is to make a Gryffindor listen." Baron Stark puffs out his chest, as if he's proud of the fact that's he's going to listen to Charles, when that's all Erik's been doing since Charles got out of Divination ten minutes ago. Erik kind of wishes the ghost could die again.

Charles smirks at Erik. "I'm going to find the love of my life soon. Professor Grey said so."

Baron Stark's self-righteous stance falters a bit. _Ha,_ Erik thinks, _even_ Baron Stark _thinks she's mad._ It's a little confusing for Erik, because he _should_ be on his best friend's side, but he's actually ready to argue against him with Baron Stark.

"Aha, yes, Professor Grey," says Baron Stark with a nervous laugh. Erik looks at Charles victoriously. "Nice, uh—very nice girl. Extraordinary witch, I must say. In her third year, she managed to levitate all of the dining tables in the Great Hall, and—and. Yes. Well, that's wonderful, Mister Xavier. Good luck with the women, I can tell you from personal, er, experience, that they're very tricky creatures. Good luck, again." He scratches the back of his head. "But, I... er, I really must be going. And you should too, I believe, to your classes."

"Oh!" Charles exclaims, seemingly unfazed by the ghost's very strange and out-of-character behavior. "C'mon Erik, we're going to be late. It's good to see you, Lord Stark. I do hope Lady Potts realizes what she's been missing."

Baron Stark nods and floats away down the corridor. Erik looks down at Charles as soon as he rounds the bend.

"See? Even _he_ think she's a loony."

"Oh, shut it, Erik. Professor Grey is _not_ mad," says Charles. They finally start moving down the hall again. "Even Lord Stark himself said she's brilliant."

"You know who was also brilliant _and_ mad? Tesla. Michelangelo. Socrates. Just saying, she can be both." Erik shrugs. "I _personally_ believe—"

"And she's not lying, either, in case you were going to try and play that card as well." Charles interjects just in time.

"Maybe she's... stretching the truth. Prevaricating. Telling a white lie. Um, bullshitting? That's a good word. Professor Jean Grey is bullshitting about Divination being an actual thing." Erik looks at Charles, amused, as the English wizard scowls, his red mouth twisting into a pout that Erik has a hard time looking at. “She did it with me when I was in Divination; she said that the shape of my wrists meant that I was going to die childless.”

“She’s right, though; you’re never going to find a wife willing to procreate with you with _those_ wrists,” teases Charles, snickering as Erik smacks his arm, making sure the protruding bone in said wrist can be felt through his robe. “It’s only true, you know.”

Erik bites the inside of his cheek to keep back a smile. “You’re an arse.”

“You’re a bigger arse than I am,” Charles retorts. Erik shrugs in agreement. He won’t argue if it’s true, unlike Professor Grey’s predictions that Erik will die when he's forty-two of alcohol poisoning. (He's German. It's not physically possible.) "And if I do find the love of my life, you're not being invited to our wedding. At the very least, you're being sat next to my mum."

“Okay," Erik says. Sharon Xavier seems pretty fun, anyways.

 

  ~****~

 

"Now, who can tell me what this potion is?" Professor Banner says. Behind him, which Erik has a slightly obstructed view of, there's a cauldron filled with a pearly-colored potion, the steam wafting from it faintly smelling like vanilla extract, ink, and oddly, Erik's mother's perfume. Erik wonders why that is, and he also wonders if her perfume is made from this potion somehow. Her being a Muggle, he finds that very unlikely.

While he's pondering this, unsurprisingly Charles' hand shoots straight up from the front of the room, and Professor Banner calls on him—also unsurprisingly. Charles is a teacher's pet with just about every teacher at Hogwarts, what with him knowing absolutely everything like it's straight out of the source material. It's annoying, except for the fact that Charles is basically a human textbook, and Erik can use him instead of going to the library and facing Madam Storm, the uptight librarian. "Amortentia. It's causes the drinker to be dangerously infatuated with the distributor."

Professor Banner smiles fondly, his cheery expression too bright for the dungeon. A man as nice and soft-spoken as Professor Banner does not fit in a place made of dark stone, bad thoughts, and mildew. "Correct. And can anyone tell me a common misconception about—" Charles' hand goes up again, "—yes, Mister Xavier?"

"Amortentia is oftentimes regarded as a love potion, but this is actually false. While it makes the drinker obsessed with the person who gave them the potion, it is not love. To this day, no one has been able to create a potion correctly mimicking the feeling of love." Charles says this seemingly in one breath, and Erik would be impressed about how much he knew about a specific potion, if Charles didn't have an answer for every single question any professor's ever asked ever.

Erik begrudgingly writes that down in his notebook, his quill scratching across the parchment. He can hear several other people do the same.

"Five points to Slytherin, Mister Xavier, excellent." Charles looks at Erik from over his shoulder, one of his eyebrows raised proudly. Erik rolls his eyes. The ego Charles has, honestly. Awarding him points certainly isn't helping matters.

 _Whatever,_ he mouths at the other wizard. Charles smirks, then looks back up at the front of the room. The arrogant git.

Sometimes, Erik is surprised Charles isn't in Ravenclaw. He's definitely smart enough to be. But Erik then realizes that Charles is also too proud for his own damn good, and with the exception of Raven, his entire family—who has the purest blood of them all—has been in Slytherin forever. He's sure the Sorting Hat had no trouble sorting him, nonetheless, if the entire two seconds it spent trying to sort him were anything to go by. Maybe it was just a force of habit rather than anything else, but still, Erik has to agree that it was still fitting.

Erik, on the other hand, had had the hat on his head for a solid  _minute_ before it had finally bellowed, _"Gryffindor!"_ and the entire table had erupted into cheers. Erik likes to think he's a complex individual, as does everybody, but he didn't know he was _that_ difficult to figure out. He hadn't heard the Sorting Hat murmur _Slytherin_ while it was pondering, though, and that was probably because Erik was half-blood.

It would be interesting, Erik thinks, as Professor Banner continues to ramble on about Amortension—or whatever they were talking about, Erik has it written down already anyway—if he and Charles were in the same house. They probably still would've become friends, that Erik knows for sure. It's also possible Erik would've been overwhelmed with Charles in such large doses that he would push him away. Erik bites the inside of his lip. It would probably go the other way around, first, if he were to be honest.

Erik sighs inaudibly and looks at the door to the classroom, then the bookshelves, then simply just closes his eyes, his head resting in his palm, letting his mind wander.

Erik wishes he knew Legilimency. He's heard Charles talk about it, rather a lot, actually. And while Erik knows he'd be absolutely terrible at it, reading someone's mind would be bloody _amazing._ Especially Charles' mind. Erik often wonders what's going on in there, oftentimes while they're talking. Some answers would be quite nice, actually.

Answers to questions like, _"Why in Merlin's name do you believe in Divination?"_ would be a start. Or, _"Are you wearing Raven's lipstick or something? Doesn't Hogwarts have a no makeup policy?"_ Oh, and,  _"Why do you pronounce 'aluminum', 'ahh-loo-min-ee-um'?"_ That one's more of a question about his accent, more than anything else. He just forgets to ask every time he's around Charles, for some reason.

With the thought of Divination, he's back at being exasperated with Charles again, being bored having made him forget about it for the time being. He can't believe someone so _brilliant_ willingly believes and practices something so _stupid._ It's like an atheist practicing religion, or Headmaster Shaw smiling pleasantly at a child without the child crying. The concept just doesn't line up with the reality.

And Erik's not _jealous_ of Charles. He doesn't care if Charles' future wife—or husband, Erik adds on as an unconscious afterthought—bursts through the wall of the classroom and proposes to him right then and there.

Actually, Erik would rather like for them to do that; he's bored out of his _skull._

But the _point_ is not that Erik is jealous of Charles, or the person who he'll eventually end up with for that matter, it's just that Charles thinks he's going to find his soulmate based on the stars, the color of his eyes and the length of his fingers, two of the most arbitrary physical traits that someone can have besides the diameter of their left nostril and the amount of hair in their eyebrows. It doesn't _matter,_ especially when Divination's fake anyway, and it's just so trivial and annoying.

Erik's mind drifts off to wondering about who Charles' soulmate would be, _if_ he were to find them in the following month.

They would have to put up with him, obviously. Someone in Hufflepuff, maybe. Erik wouldn't rule out Gryffindor either. He would just compete with anyone in Ravenclaw; that he knows for a fact. And Charles has said he doesn't really find his housemates to be all that appealing, friendship or otherwise.

Angel Salvadore suddenly surfaces to mind, images of her and Charles beside each other in the Great Hall, and Erik quickly bats the image of her away like a disease-ridden mosquito, his lip curling like a reflex.

 _I just don't like_ her, Erik thinks. _I don't have a problem with any other girls and Charles. It's just her._

Erik's not sure why he has a problem with her, but he does. Just the thought of her and Charles holding hands, or laughing together, or, god _forbid,_ kiss—

"Eyes up front, Mister Lehnsherr, if you would." Professor Banner's voice cuts through Erik's thoughts like a blade, making him blush slightly with embarrassment for being called out. On the other hand, he's glad that he interrupted his train of thought; he didn't like where it was going.

"Sorry, Professor," he murmurs. Professor Banner nods, gives him a reassuring smile, and leans up against his desk at the front of the room.

"Would anyone care to describe what Amortentia smells like?" Professor Banner asks. He looks around the dreary, dark classroom and across the drowsy faces. "Miss Pryde?" A mouse-faced girl named Kitty perks up a little bit from across the aisle. "Tell me what sticks out to you."

Kitty furrows her eyebrows a little bit and sniffs the air. Erik can see her eyes go slightly hooded, her body drifting further forward ever-so-slightly in her seat. In fact, Erik suddenly notices that just about _everybody_ is straining towards the front of the room in some way or another. Even _he_ is, kind of. "Pumpkin pie and clean sheets, sir," Kitty finally says. Erik is suddenly confused. That's not what it smells like at all, not even a little bit.

"Interesting. Mister Allerdyce?"

"Er. A bonfire...?"

 _What?_ Erik thinks. It doesn't smell anything like that either. While he's questioning the mental state of his classmates, he looks up at the back of Charles' head, and tries to will him to turn around, because _obviously_ he has an answer, but Charles doesn't even move. Then Erik looks past him, and sees that Professor Banner has a big grin on his face, and Erik's almost completely sure it's matching Charles'.

"It smells different to everybody, huh?" Professor Banner's smile widens, if possible. "I wonder why that—yes, Mister Xavier.

"The smell Amortentia emits is subjective from person to person, based on what they find is most attractive, even if they don't know it," Charles answers. Professor Banner nods, the grin turning proud. Erik's only ever seen that directed at  _him_ from the groundskeeper, Logan, and even that was more of him being impressed that he hadn't gotten his face singed off by a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

That's just Charles, though, Erik supposes. Always trying to and impressing everybody, no matter what subject it is. 

"Now that you know about the history and uses of them—" Erik winces; he hadn't been listening, "—I would like a short two paragraph essay on the ethicalness on love potions. I want at least one reference to Laverne de Montmorency and her work as a love potioneer. I'll give you... twenty minutes."

Erik lets his head slip on to the desk.

 

                ~****~ 

 

"Seriously?" Raven giggles, her hand over her mouth as she tries to swallow her lunch without spewing it everywhere. Erik grins. "He really—he really thinks... no  _way._ Merlin's  _pants,_ this is  _amazing."_

"Yeah," agrees Erik into his pumpkin juice. "Mars and Neptune aligned, apparently." Raven breaks out in another peal of laughter. Erik's about to join in, but something about how hard she's laughing is disconcerting. While it's hilarious, Erik didn't think it would warrant  _this_ much laughter. He swallows and sets his cup down. "Is this really  _that_ funny?"

Raven nods, trying to gather the breath to speak. "I had Emma slip Amortentia into his drink!" she snorts. "He's going to think it's real. Poor bloke... This is going to be _awesome,_ though."

All at once, the blood drains from Erik's face, replacing the buzzing feeling he'd had while talking to Raven just seconds before with cold, unsettling dread. "What?"

"Sean slipped some when the prof wasn't looking," Raven says. "We were originally going to see if Charles could give it to you, but you'd probably hex us to Hell if we did, so we decided—"

"Why would you... **.** " Erik's throat is dry, and his tongue is too big for his mouth. _Oh no._  "He's going to think it's because of the bloody planets aligning— _Crikey,_ Raven, he's going to be heartbroken!" He tries to peer over Piotr's head to get a good look at Charles from the Slytherin table, but he can't, and he sits down with a harrumph. He has one leg over the bench, and he's about to get up, when Raven tugs on his sleeve.

"It's just a  _prank,_ Erik, settle down," she says. Erik growls, a feral sound in the back of his throat. "He'll be fine. He forgave us after we cast the Titillando hex on him in front of Headmaster Shaw, remember? He probably won't even get in trouble this time."

"That doesn't  _matter,"_  snaps Erik, "No one should do this to him! No matter if he gets in trouble or not!"

"I'm his  _sister_ and I don't care as much as you do right now," remarks Raven. Erik grits his teeth and gets up fully. "Blimey, Erik, one would think you're in love with him or something. Besides, this will teach him a lesson about believing in stupid Divination bollocks—"

"I'm not in love with him," Erik says through clenched teeth, "I'm his friend."

Raven shrugs. "Doesn't mean you can't be both." She sighs, then looks him in the eye. "Go on then, lover boy, go save my brother from the evil clutches of love."

"Shut up," says Erik, even though he's already up and around the Gryffindor table. His robes billow out from behind him as he pushes his sleeves up, looking for Emma Frost's blonde head. Of  _course_ Sean would've given it to her; she's Miss Untouchable, the one girl everyone in the entire  _school—_ excluding the professors, of course... hopefully, anyway—wants but can't have. It would be absolutely embarrassing for Charles to try and smell her hair in the middle of the Great Hall.

Merlin's beard, if he doesn't get there first, Charles isn't going to be the same for weeks. Months. Forever, even. Erik can't let this happen. His fingers are already wrapped around his wand, ready to cast the Densaugio hex on Emma, and make the witch look like a bloody beaver. Maybe her suitors would like her less if she had teeth that reached her waist. (Charles wouldn't approve of this whether or not he's been administered a love potion, but Erik really doesn't care.)

Erik hates to think what's going to happen if Charles does end up drinking it. Or, worse, what would happen after  _that,_ when Erik has to explain to him what happened, and that he hadn't been able to help, and  _that_ was what Professor Grey had divined. If he drinks the potion,  _he_ will think that she's the love of his life, even if she isn't.

Erik isn't prepared for this.

Charles usually sits near the end of the table, with Victor von Doom—very ominous sounding name, even for a Slytherin—and Natasha Romanoff. 

"They're nice enough, Erik," Charles had said after Erik had witnessed the two of them practically torturing a mouse they'd found in the dungeon, "And they're Slytherins. Remember that, too."

 _"You're_ a Slytherin, and  _you_ don't torture animals," Erik had replied. Charles had shrugged and continued filling out his dream diary.

Charles is sometimes too nice to be in Slytherin, Erik thinks. He's too caring, too generous. But, as it turns out, Charles uses that kindness to manipulate people into doing what he wants. Erik isn't sure he even knows it sometimes, but he does. Erik can't resist giving Charles his jacket when it's cold out, or letting him sit between his legs when they're down by the lake, even when the smell of Charles' shampoo is too obnoxious for Erik to get any work done. (It's all so overwhelmingly _vanilla_ flavored. Erik doesn't know how Charles doesn't faint from the fumes.)

Even so, targeting  _Charles_ as someone they should play this prank on is just  _cruel._ He would forgive them immediately, granted, but that doesn't mean he's still not going to carry that around internally. From Kitty's notes, Erik knows that Amortentia is the strongest "love" potion on the planet. Even in small doses, it's impossible to know what Charles will do.

He's about to get to the Slytherin table when Hank McCoy, a timid little Ravenclaw in the same year as Raven, tugs on his sleeve. Erik snarls as he's whipped around.

"Let me  _go,"_ he barks, just quiet enough so the professors won't notice. Hank swallows.

"S—Sorry, Erik, I just. I just wanted to ask if... if Raven was. Um. If Raven still needed help on her Charms essay," he stutters out, and Erik rolls his eyes. Hank gulps again. "Sorry. I just wanted to help—"

"If you want to ask her out, go ahead," Erik says as he tries to find Charles amongst the sea of black and green robes.

"No, no, I wanted to know if she still n—needed—"

"In Merlin's  _bloody_ name, Hank, I don't have  _time_ for this!" Erik has to go on his tip-toes to look all the way down the Slytherin table, where he finally sees Charles' wheelchair—and a head full of blonde, curly hair, sauntering towards his seat. _"Fuck!"_ He has to speed-walk away from Hank in order to get to the Slytherin table without detection from Headmaster Shaw.

A shiver runs down his spine as he thinks about Headmaster Shaw, and the punishment he'd give Erik if he did in fact hex Emma. Cleaning out the hippogriff stables. Scrubbing the Dungeon floors. Merlin  _forbid_ he make him do anything with Professor Nur, the Ancient Runes teacher. He's positively  _horrifying._ And blue, somehow.

Heart pounding in his chest like a Boggart struggling in a closet, Erik is at the back of the Slytherin table. "Charles?" 

Erik's heart physically stops when he sees Charles' cup touch his lips.  _Fuck._ From behind him, he has a view of Emma's lip, bitten so she won't grin.  _Fuck._ His head whips around, and there's Raven, sniggering into her hand.

_NO._

Then, the world starts up from where it'd stopped.

"Emma?" Charles says, like he's just noticed her there. She smiles, like she hadn't just drugged Charles with the most powerful love potion in the entire world. Erik grows ever closer and sicker by the second. He's almost there, he can get Charles out of here and to the infirmary, and get Emma bloody Frost  _expelled—_

Loki Laufeyson stands up in his way. Erik groans and taps his foot on the ground as the other boy blocks his path to Charles.

"Are all Gryffindors this daft? Your table is over  _there,"_ the fifth-year smirks, slicked back hair glinting in the light of the levitating candles. The prefect badge stands out proudly from his Slytherin robes. Erik takes a deep breath, and tries not to cast a curse on him. "Go on. Shoo." Erik's prodded with Loki's wand in the chest.

Erik struggles to speak without saying an incantation to turn Loki into a horse. "My friend just got... he's... **.** " Erik swallows hard as he sees Charles grab Emma's hand and hold it with both of his, reverently. A wildfire blossoms in Erik's stomach. "He just got  _drugged."_

Loki's eyes widen. "What? Drugged? How?"

"Amor—Amortat— _whatever the hell the most powerful bloody love potion is,"_ Erik snaps. "They slipped it in his—"

"Someone put Amortentia in your friend's drink?" Loki repeats. Erik nods vigorously. 

"You have to let me through, please—"

"How did they get it?" Loki's expression is of befuddlement, but Erik can see the ghost-smirk on his face. Erik almost whines. With his luck, of  _course_ he'd run into Loki, who would only extend a hand to a person hanging on to dear life from a cliff, and only if that person was himself or Headmaster Shaw. "Why would they—do they like him? There are  _much_ better ways to tell someone, to be quite honest. Or... did he slip it to himself?"

Emma is giggling. Charles is saying something about blonde hair being a mutation. Erik's _body_ hurts.

"Bloody hell, Loki, I need to  _go,"_  says Erik, tone dripping with desperation. He can see Charles' goofy— _goofy—_ smile from here, and Natasha and Victor are on the verge of hysterical tears. (Some "friends" they are, anyway.) 

"Don't you talk to a prefect like—" Erik shoves Loki to the side, despite his yelp and his threats to send him to Headmaster Shaw, and charges towards Charles. 

Just in time for him to be slapped across the face with a perfectly-manicured hand.

Erik's wand is out and casting the first spell that comes to mind before Emma's hand is even at her side, fury raging in his stomach and his throat raw with pure emotion. 

 _No one_ hits Charles. Not even when he's being foolish, or a cheeky bastard, or a downright ass. No one should even  _talk_ about hitting Charles, because it's wrong, it's inherently  _evil,_ like killing a unicorn, or using the Killing Curse. It's a blemish on one's soul. 

And now, there's not even one hair on Emma's head. 

Her terrified shriek fills the Great Hall, and everyone goes silent. Erik's wand is still pointed directly at her, as if he's trying to direct all the attention to her. Charles turns his head to Erik amidst the silence.

"What did you  _do_ to her?" he shouts at him. There's actual  _resentment_ in Charles' eyes, something he's probably never had for  _anyone,_ not even his stepfather. Especially not at  _Erik,_ his best friend, the person he's known and trusted for  _years—_ Erik tries to calm himself down, knowing this is just the potion making him protective of Emma, that it isn't  _really_ for Erik... but isn't it? It feels real. Charles  _hates_ him.  _Despises_ him, because he tried to protect Charles. Because he hurt the "love of his life". 

It's real for Charles.

Erik's shaking; his heartbeat probably louder than the entirety of the room. Nearly everyone in the Great Hall is looking at them, except for Emma and Raven, who are both ducking their heads in embarrassment. 

Then Charles is pulling his wand out on him, his face twisted in _hate,_ and Erik's breath stops in his throat, in accordance with the hand on his shoulder.

"Wand away, Mister Xavier," Headmaster Shaw says solemnly. Ice seems to wrap around Erik's entire body like a snake. "You as well, Mister Lehnsherr. The both of you, in my office." His voice lowers almost an octave, laced with power and silent fury.  _"Now."_

 

~****~

 

Charles doesn't talk to Erik the entire way to Headmaster Shaw's office. He does talk to Shaw, though, asking about Emma in a nonstop barrage of questions, every one of them making Erik's toes curl in his shoes with anger. This isn't  _Charles._ If Charles were in this situation, he'd be trembling, stuttering, trying to do  _anything_ to get back in Shaw's good graces. He's not, now. All he seems to be worried about is Emma Frost's stupid bald head.

Which Erik doesn't regret, now that he thinks about it. Not even if his worst nightmare is coming true as he knows it, seeing the girl's eyes widen as her hands touched her head was one of the most gratifying moments in Erik's time at Hogwarts. Maybe even his  _life._

What he is afraid of, though, is Charles' unavoidable despair at having been sent to Headmaster Shaw's office, made a fool of himself in front of everybody in the Great Hall, and even pulled his wand on Erik. Maybe Erik should be thanking Headmaster Shaw. He might've averted Erik's incredibly untimely demise, probably as a bleeding corpse going cold on the ground.

And even scarier, Charles wouldn't have blinked an eye until after the potion had worn off. Erik shivers, and feels another surge of revulsion towards Emma, and even Raven. She let this happen to her own brother. Erik clenches his hand into a fist.

They're both in front of Shaw's desk, now. The portraits on the walls cluck their tongues in disappointment, a few try to say some things about Erik's messy hair. Erik doesn't listen to what they say. And neither does Charles, apparently.

"Sir, I must know if Emma is all right," he says. Erik's stomach flops with the sound of her name. "I wouldn't want her to be hurt; I couldn't  _bear—"_

Headmaster Shaw pinches the bridge of his nose, making his wire-rimmed glasses ride up to his eyebrows, then grabs something from inside his desk. It's a light pink liquid in a vial; Erik had forgotten that before becoming headmaster, he'd been the head of Potions. Headmaster Shaw uncorks it, and extends his arm to hold it out to Charles. "Drink this, Charles. Please."

"Is she—"

Erik snatches the vial from Shaw's hand and tips it into Charles' open mouth. Charles swallows without thinking, and bends over when he's done. Erik can only hope that is what he thinks it is.

Charles' brow furrows, and his shoulders sag as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. Erik braces for the inevitable. "Where—I'm—Headmaster Shaw," he squeaks. Erik bites his lip and hands the empty vial back to Shaw. Charles' chest starts to flutter. "I—I—There's been a mistake, I would never—Erik?" His head turns to face him, eyes wide with terror. He's probably never even _seen_ this place. "Why are you—we—"

"I believe Mister Lehnsherr may be able to fill you in, at least with most of what has happened," the wizard says. His face looks tired. "Then Miss Frost can probably fill in the details."

Charles looks at Erik, his knuckles white as they clench to the arms of his wheelchair. "What, Erik?"

"You... **.** " Erik swallows, his throat feeling dry. He doesn't want to have to do this. "Emma, she... she put Amortentia in... in your pumpkin juice. And you drank it." All the blood runs out of Charles' face. Erik clears his throat again. "Yeah."

"She...," Charles whispers, head turning back to Headmaster Shaw, then back to Erik. "Did I—"

"Yeah," says Erik, not wanting him to finish. Headmaster Shaw looks at him, eyebrow raised. Erik's cheeks flush. "And, um. I kind of hexed her hair... off." He winces.

Charles' blue eyes flash with surprise and outrage. "You did  _what?_ Why would you—you're— _Erik!"_

"She slapped you! I had to do  _something!"_

"She did  _what?"_ exclaims Charles. "Why?"

"I don't know!" Erik thinks back to what he had half-heard Charles saying over Loki's spiteful rambling. Something about how beautiful she was, and how he would want nothing more than to carry her off and marry her, or something. Now that he's hearing it again, the fire in his gut flares up again. He grits his teeth to tamper it down. "I think... I think you got too... forward."

"Forward?"

"I don't know, Loki was in my way, I couldn't hear you!" 

"Loki? Wait, why?"

"He was trying to block me, or whatever, but I was trying to help you!"

 _"Boys!"_ Shaw shouts. Both of them look back over at Shaw, whose glasses are slipping down his nose dangerously. His hands are planted on the desk. "Erik, I'm taking twenty points from Gryffindor." Erik sighs. "And you're receiving a week's worth of detention with Professor Howlett. As for you, Charles... **.** " Shaw closes his eyes, and pushes his glasses up his nose again. "A week of detention for you, too."

Charles' eyes widen so much that Erik's  _sure_ that it must hurt, like a deer caught in the light. "B—But, sir, I didn't do anything!" He's shivering, and Erik wants to wrap his arms around him to get him to stop. 

"It's school policy, and unfortunately," says Shaw, his tone not at all implying that he finds it unfortunate, "It also applies to you, whether or not you were under the influence of a potion. There's nothing I can do; it was written centuries ago."

"What did I  _do?"_ Charles is near hyperventilating now. Erik sets his hand on his shoulder to steady him.

Erik bites his lip. "You pulled your wand on me," he says quietly. Charles looks up at him like he's been punched. "After I hexed off Emma's hair. You didn't mean—or, I guess you  _did,_ but because of the potion and everything, you... you didn't have any control over it."

"Thank you, Erik," sighs Shaw. "Go to your classes, now. Your first detention will be this evening."

Charles swallows, and Erik leads him out silently into the staircase, helping his chair down the stairs. 

 

                                 ~****~

 

"I pulled my wand on you?" Charles says quietly as they get into the hallway. Erik nods and shrugs. If this gets to Charles' head, it won't be out of it for a while. He doesn't want that to happen, especially when Erik was really to blame, anyway. "Erik, I would  _never—_ I'm so _sorry—"_

"It's not your fault." Erik kneels down next to Charles. "You didn't cast anything, I promise. And I was stupid enough to 'harm' Emma while you were like that. I should've paid more attention. It's not your _fault_ , Charles."

Charles nods, but Erik can tell he's not really listening. Erik sighs. "I could've hurt you." 

"But you didn't," says Erik.

"I could've." Charles looks at the ground. "Come on. We have to get to Charms." 

Erik stands up, and they continue towards their classroom. Charles is silent; Erik doesn't try to talk to him now. He's wrapped up in his own thoughts, too. Like how Charles is probably going to distance himself from him, at least for a little while. How Mama is going to send him nothing short of three Howlers—with help from Papa; she's a Muggle, after all, but she utilizes Papa's magic as much as she can—and how he'll have to explain everything to her.

Erik's not even sure he can put it down in words what's happened. It's all so confusing, like it happened in a whirlwind. 

"Guess that's my romantic endeavor," Charles says after ten minutes of not speaking. He's trying to joke; that's good... His voice still sounds sad and melancholy, though, and Erik sighs. "So I was right about Divination."

"I guess," replies Erik weakly. "I wouldn't put much stock in it, even still." Charles shrugs, the action forcibly light-hearted. Erik grits his teeth. 

"Of course it had to be Emma, of all people." Charles laughs. "I'll have half of the school on my arse about it."

"Everyone'll know you were drugged. It'll get around."

"Well, eventually." Charles clears his throat and looks up at Erik. "What did you mean, by the way, about Loki blocking you? Why was Loki by the Gryffindor table?"

Erik sighs. "He wasn't. I was trying to get to you before Emma put the stuff in your drink, and he stood up. I probably would've stopped her if he hadn't been an arse and stalled me. Even  _after_ I told him it was going to happen, he still did it. I had to push him over to get to you."

Charles is silent for a moment. "You knew about it?"

"Raven told me." Erik winces; Raven probably doesn't want anything to do with this after what happened. "She—She heard that Emma was going to do it, and she told me. So."

"Oh," says Charles. He looks at the wall for a moment, then back at Erik. He bites his lip, and Erik swallows as Charles worries it between his teeth. It's similar to the feeling he got when Charles was flirting with Emma, but... he's not  _angry_  with Charles, or anyone. It's just that intense rush of heat Erik's always classified as anger. He's never known it to be anything different. He's not sure what this is, then, if it's not anger. 

His eyes are so blue, Erik realizes. Like the Ravenclaw crest. They could be frightening, like when they were aiming to destroy him in the Great Hall, or they could be completely enrapturing, like they are right now. Erik's not sure what's changed about Charles' gaze on him, but it's almost uncomfortable.

"You hexed off Emma Frost's hair," Charles says quietly. Erik inhales to apologize, or something, but Charles keeps going. "And you pushed over a prefect."

"Yeah," Erik mumbles. "I know I shouldn't have, but I—"

"You did that for me," says Charles. Erik nods. "You could've gotten _expelled,"_ he breathes. Erik nods again, the reverent tone Charles is using making his cheeks heat. 

"I know," says Erik, "But—"

Charles drags him down by the collar of his robes and slants his mouth against Erik's. Erik's eyes fly open, heart trying to claw out of his ribcage like a wild pixie. This—what Charles is doing, what  _he's_ doing, feels right. It feels good. It feels like winning. Charles' lips are soft beneath his, and Erik's stomach jumps as the other boy touches his shoulder, making him jolt like he's been shocked.

Everything's swirling around him as Charles pulls away, his eyes shining like sapphires. Erik's out of breath, still lingering over Charles' chair. His brain has been completely fried, and that warm feeling in his abdomen is more present than ever. This time, though, it feels almost... good, in a way. 

"Wha was...," Erik tries to bring coordination back to his mouth. "What was that for?"

"Felt right," replies Charles. He brings Erik closer and inhales at the junction of the shoulder and his neck. "You smell like cinnamon," he says, almost drowsily. "It smelled like cinnamon too."

Erik's barely listening, though. He can't get a thought through his brain. The vanilla and ink wafting from Charles being this close is overwhelming.

Erik snorts. Vanilla and ink.

Of course.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't finished, lol. It's missing a lot, but I was incredibly pressed for time. I will come back, though! :D


End file.
